Cryptic
by Wendy Pierce
Summary: Dark brown hair. Check. Gorgeous green eyes. Check. Know-it-all smirk. Double check. "He wasn't supposed to be there. He was assigned on the same mission to retrieve the same item but in a different place for a completely different purpose. Or was she the one who was off?" Zammie.
1. Meetings and Mistakes

**This story disregards the plot of Gallagher Girls (which is totally rude of me because it is an awesome series) and Zach and Cammie have never met or at least had any recollection of it.**

**PLEASE do ignore my wording towards the end of the story; the wording becomes worse because I was rushing to get it all out and done with. **

**This is my second time writing for this fandom so please, no flames of any type.**

**Disclaimer-I don't own Gallagher Girls or any of its characters. Ally Carter does.**

* * *

It was only an hour until sunrise. And all types of creatures were lingering in the night. One person especially had slipped out of the darkest shadows of night and into the moonlight which was too bright for her liking.

Her internal clock told her that it was midnight. She glanced at the sky, where stars were wonderfully displayed. But she didn't care. The beauty of that night wasn't as important as her _goal_ of that night. She disappeared back into the safety of the shadows. Ahead, a large industrial district was coming in to sight. The district was completely shrouded in trees-barely visible to the naked eye. This made a good cover for people who weren't supposed to be there. This also included that woman.

She was there on a mission, a mission that was so simple that it couldn't be messed up. Ever.

She stopped in front of a fence. That very fence had at least all the security surveillance known to man. The woman pressed her hand to her ear, where a comms unit was placed. "Bookworm, I'm going to need you to hack into the security system so I can safely maneuver my way into the buildings."

"Which gate are you at?" A soft voice rang in her ear.

"The west gate."

"You've got it."

In a matter of seconds, the west gates flew open and a voice in her ear said, "Got it!"

The woman smiled at her friend's enthusiasm. "Thanks, Bookworm." She entered, the gates quickly and quietly closing behind her. "I couldn't have been through the gates if it wasn't for you."

Silence filled the other side of the comms. Either there was something wrong with the connection or her friend, her only back-up, was far too busy to talk. "The main building is in the east. If my co-ordinations are right," Which, of course, they always were, the woman thought. "You have to keep heading straight."

"Okay." The woman moved her hand from her ear and continued walking forward. She had chose to start at the west side of the complex because she knew that at night there would be less guards to worry about.

And then she, perhaps the second most coordinated person she knew, besides her best friend, who shall remain unnamed, ran into a wall. But it wasn't a wall. But a person.

"Watch where you're going, miss." A groggy, deep voice said.

"I could say the same thing to you." She muttered, brushing some blonde locks out of her face.

The tall, lean man smirked. "Let me guess; you're here for a mission too?"

The woman stared up at the man, worry in her eyes. "What mission?" She shrugged, pulling out a gun and pointing it in the man's direction. "I'm on a patrol-you shouldn't be here."

The man laughed. He too heard the lie. It was a good try though. "You're here to retrieve a disk, I assume."

The woman held the gun to his temple. "It is more than just a 'disk' if you ask me."

"It is. It's just filled with a bunch of-"

"The Gallagher Academy alumni list is more than just a disk filled with any names." She snapped, her fingers on the trigger. She could pull it and watch the man, whoever he was, fall to his knees, dead. Then all her worries could wash away and she could complete her mission in peace.

He laughed again. "I'm on the good side, _your_ side, sweet heart." He pushed her hand down, the smirk never leaving his face.

"Who goes there?" A voice, a different one, cut through the darkness. Instinctively, the two agents pressed against a wall. They waited for a short, harmless looking guard to pass by before stepping back into the moonlight.

"I've seen you around before." She nodded towards him, taking in his appearance: Dark brown hair with deep green eyes-eyes that can look into your soul-and a cocky smirk to top it all off.

Another voice came from behind them, alarming the two. Together, they sprinted around a corner.

"You have?" He questioned, ducking a security camera that loomed ten feet above their heads. He took her arm (not in the romantic way, though) and pulled her into a dark alley where they were safe from guards.

"Yeah," She continued as if she always had a casual type of conversation on an occasion-which, as a spy, she doesn't. Her gaze met his for a moment-nothing more. Her mind traveled back to where she could have possibly seen that man before: there was this time, in Rio, where she was hunting down a mole with eyes like those; that one mission that required her to go undercover as a college student (which, at the time, she already was one) and one of the young men she thought to be the suspect of the murder of a former president had a voice like his. But that was not the man who she held hands with at that moment. He was someone else. "Weren't you the agent who was reportedly said to single-handedly take down a group of former KGB officers by only using a book?"

"It was an encyclopedia; get your facts straight." He hissed under his breath. He checked the perimeter before ushering her down the next rows of buildings, where they ducked more cameras and any guards that were happening to be patrolling that area. "I don't think you have that amount of clearance to hear the rest of the story."

She skidded to a stop, forcing him to stop as well. "I have you know I have a high enough clearance to know the things I want to." She cocked a hip and raised an eyebrow. "Otherwise I wouldn't be _here_."

He sighed, evidently annoyed of her. "Look, you and I both know we don't have the time to show off to the other. Now come on." He jerked on her arm but she didn't move.

"No!"

"What was that?" A guard that stood thirty feet in front of them whirled on his heels. He looked in the direction of where the two agents stood, confused. Because they were already gone.

* * *

"Don't you know better than to cause a commotion like that?" The man snapped.

"Well, if you didn't treat me like I was some dog, then perhaps I'll get a change in perspective."

"Women." He let out an exasperated sigh.

"What are we doing in the north? I need to be in the east!" She said in the matter of someone who really didn't want to be there.

"What do you mean north?" His eyebrow increased in confusion. "This is the south."

"No; it's the north."

"Whatever." He shook his head. "Don't you need to get to the east?"

"I _was_ heading east. At least until _you_ came along."

"I'm here to help." He said as if that would make her trust him. But it didn't. Nothing did.

"I don't need help. I'm fine on my own." She shrugged, walking in the direction she thought to be east.

"That's north!" He called.

"I don't care!" She called back. He trudged after her, irritated by her stubbornness. Which he found somewhat adorable.

Loud, mechanical laughter sliced through the night. "That's where he is!" The girl exclaimed, heading towards the sound.

"That's it?"

"What do you mean 'that's it'?" She continued walking, ignoring the man who was trying to match her stride. But she had always been a fast walker so there was no way he could fall into step with her without jogging.

"What, are you just going to arrest him with no-"

"I already have a plan, wise guy." She stopped suddenly, the man running into her.

"It doesn't seem like you do."

"Well I do." She said matter-of-factly. "I'm going to take down whatever minions he has, corner him, and take back the disk that belongs to the Gallagher Academy."

"This Guggenheim-"

"_Gallagher_." She corrected.

"-Academy seems too important to you. May I ask why?"

"You just did." She turned to walk away but his hand was on her shoulder, forcing her to face him. His green eyes were filled with disbelief and annoyance. She sighed. "Because _I_ was once a Gallagher Girl myself."

She didn't want to admit it to him, but she felt comfortable blurting it out. Even though he was a random (but totally hot) stranger. Even though she may have heard stories about how this man was a 'legend' and all and she had just met him. "What's your name?"

The man looked slightly taken aback by this. But he responded nonetheless. "Cryptic. And you?"

"Chameleon." She drew a breath. If he used his codename, it would only be professional if she did so too.

"Sir, I believe there's someone outside!" Chameleon turned to Cryptic, her eyes wide.

He forcefully pushed her around the corner of the building, where she wouldn't be standing in eye sight, and took cover himself. "Do you have a girlfriend?" She questioned. "Because the way you're treating me says no."

His hand was on her mouth, his body pressed against hers, and her back on the wall of a building. He cut her a look that said to be quiet. She obeyed, her eyes wandering to the corner where a guard was standing, looking. At them.

"You two-this is a restricted area!" He warned, pointing his gun at the two.

Cryptic cursed. He grabbed the woman's hand. For a moment, Chameleon was under the impression that the man had wanted to get her in trouble. Because, instead of running _away_ from the guard, they were running _towards_ him. The man swiftly kicked the guard in the shins, punched him squarely in the face, and slapped a Napotine patch on his face for good measures. Chameleon checked her utility built. Cryptic had taken her patches when she wasn't looking.

"Where do you think you're going?" A voice behind the two asked. They turned, and saw the enemy.

* * *

There are some advantages and disadvantages to going on missions. The advantage is that you can save humanity from crashing (even though humanity is already ruined and there's no point in fixing it now). A disadvantage, however, is accidentally running into an agent who probably wasn't assigned to be there in the first place, losing your sense of direction because of said agent, and getting caught by the enemy all because the agent who you ran into decided to be sloppy.

Chameleon was not happy with this unfortunate turn of events. And she had the man to blame. Cryptic, the woman thought. She had seen his files before in the Director's office. His name was labeled on the file besides hers, though instead of 'Gallagher Academy', 'Blackthorne' was imprinted on the cover. She remembered that day- the excitement and rush of adrenaline she had felt because she was being assigned on a mission; the cold, hard stare the Director was giving her as he slide a manila folder in front of her; and then, tucked under the Director's arm, she saw another file. _Cryptic's_ file. She had thought it was nothing-a pigment of imagination. But her, being the spy she was, took in every detail she could visibly see.

Blackthorne. It couldn't have been the Blackthorne Institute for Juvenile Boys, could it? But then Chameleon thought harder and realized: If Cryptic had been given a mission in Blackthorne, it meant that he knew the school very well like she knew The Gallagher Academy. Or that he had once _attended_ that school. Meaning that he could be one of those said juvenile boys and that she was working...with a criminal.

But that didn't seem to make any sense, so she thought of another possible explanation. She had heard of Blackthorne, and how its been said to be just like The Gallagher Academy.

Wait a minute.

The Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Women-a school for spies.

Chameleon felt a piece of the puzzle fall into place, the solution getting closer.

The Blackthorne Institute for Juvenile Boys.

If Blackthorne is just like Gallagher, that meant...

The Juvenile Boys was the school's cover, meaning that The Blackthorne Institute was a school...for spies.

But what the heck was Cryptic trying to achieve? He wasn't supposed to be there. He was assigned on the same mission to retrieve the same item but in a different place for a completely different purpose. Or was she the one who was off?

**(WARNING: This next part is so awful that I totally wouldn't mind if you skipped it to reach the end. Seriously-go ahead.)**

Millions of questions that needed to be answered raced through Chameleon's mind, though she didn't ask any. Because she knew that no one there would reply.

Cryptic wasn't too far from her-she was tied to him, in fact. Maybe he had some answers. She drew a breath to speak, but was interrupted.

"If you're just going to ask questions I must likely won't answer, I suggest you keep your mouth shut." Snapped Cryptic, not even shifting his gaze to meet hers.

She groaned in frustration. "Well, what do _you_ suppose we do now-give up to the enemy?"

"Now that I know that you think so little of me, I think I'd rather die."

Chameleon elbowed him. "What is it that we do?"

He threw his head back and laughed playfully. "You're cute."

"You might think that now, but might I remind you: I once broke out of a top-secret facility in an unknown place without any back-up. And I escaped before a bomb went off."

"Please, I've done far more impressive things than _that_."

"Like what?" She knew better than to get lost in a conversation in a time like that, but curiosity had taken over and she couldn't help it.

"Like get us out of here." He nodded towards a ventilation system in the corner of the room. "Gas fumes are very deadly and very helpful in making an escape. I knew something like this would happen. So, earlier this morning, I managed to fill the ventilation system of this building."

"So you can kill us?" She interrupted.

"_No_." He dragged the word. "This man that is holding us captive is quiet dumb, actually. Everyone knows that if you're going to capture someone, you must strip them of all their belongings."

"Your point?" She asked impatiently.

"When he leaves to check the perimeter of the building, I say we distract the guards, knock them out, retrieve the list that he foolishly had decided to leave on top of that shelf, and when he returns, we'll be gone."

"What about the gas fumes you set up, wise guy?"

"You didn't let me finish!" He half-whispered, half-yelled. If any of the man's minion overheard the two agents' discuss their escape plan, they'd be in more trouble than they already were. "We'll have to run far enough so the fumes won't affect us." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a key chain with a red button.

Chameleon was to lost in thought to hear him ask, "How's that for a guy you just meet?"

"You sound really cocky." She concluded.

Chameleon, desperate to go home, agreed with Cryptic's plan. It wasn't that bad of an idea, once you thought about it. Cryptic had been thinking ahead of the mission so he wasn't as sloppy as she thought he was. He was deliberate and rather thoughtful.

Once the enemy had walked out of the building, due to some security breach according one of his minions, the two agents convinced the remaining guards to come over. Chameleon had thrown several questions their way, none of which were important, but enough to pull their attention from Cryptic, who had managed to wiggle out of his bonds, grab a pipe that had been conveniently laying around, and knock them both out of consciousness.

Chameleon looked from the two guards to Cryptic. She nodded. "Nice."

Cryptic helped her out of her bonds (regardless of her protests) and slipped the disk from the highest self since he was taller than her. He held the small disk to her. "I believe this is yours?"

She snatched the disk from his grasp, tucking it under her belt. Then she took his hand and lead him out a window. The two ran as far as they could, never looking back at that building. Not even when a loud voice boomed, "Where are they?!"

Cryptic pressed the button on his key chain. He didn't need to turn around to know that a cloud of green smoke had shot out of the vents, and poisoned the enemy-whoever he was, anyways.

Chameleon waited until they were out of the industrial district to turn to Cryptic. The rays of early morning light was evident behind her but all that mattered that moment was the mysterious man that stood in before her. "Okay, what gives?"

"What do you mean?" Cryptic leaned against a tree, a smirk etched on his face.

"Why did you interfere with my mission? It's called _my_ mission for a reason, you know."

He laughed. But nothing was funny to Chameleon. "The Director sent me here. Originally, I was assigned to be a high school teacher at Roseville High. I can't tell you why, though, because-"

"I don't have that amount of clearance to hear the rest of the story." She said, throwing his own words back at him.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Anyways, I thought that it'd be a lot of fun to tag along on the mission-"

"That wasn't even yours to begin with."

"And take down some bad guys." He continued as if she hadn't interrupted him. "This mission was a piece of cake, really."

"It would have been, had you not came."

He shrugged. "At least you weren't in Chicago during my mission-people there sure are rowdy!" He leaned closer, smiling mischievously. "And here, I got to meet you."

His fingers grazed her cheek. Her heart stopped beating. She didn't know how to react: melt into this stranger's touch or hurl him to the ground. But she was too frozen to do anything.

"Tell your little friend I said hi." His breath was warm on her face. She realized that he was talking about her friend that, until that moment, she had forgotten was on comms unit with her.

Chameleon gasped. He was _good_.

"Maybe I'll see you again." Cryptic sent her a wink before running off into the forest that stretched out behind them.

She watched him walk away, never once turning back to look at her. She then continued on a path of her own, only one thought running through her head.

_Who was that?_


	2. Decisions

**I might turn this into a full story, if you'd like. Enjoy the long, over due chapter (school's to blame for the wait).**

* * *

Chameleon furiously looked over her work. Paper was scattered everywhere on the desk before her, a pen in her mouth and her eyes wild. She crossed off a new sentence on one of the papers and since it looked like a mess, she crumpled up the paper and threw it in the nearest trash can. She returned to her work.

Missions were great and all, but once they were complete, the daunting task of writing a report came along. Writing reports weren't hard, Chameleon knew that. She could handle it. Writing about someone who most likely wasn't supposed to be there, however, that's a different story. What was she supposed to say? _This guy interfered my mission. Oh, and I think I might be in love with that idiot!_ It might sound good enough for a possible romance novel, but not for an actual report. The Director will read it. Why would she let him know that? Or anybody, for that matter.

Ever since that encounter with the agent that deemed himself Cryptic, Chameleon had been hoping to never see him again or she'd be tempted to punch him in the pretty face (not that she thought he had a pretty face, anyway.)

She was too lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice the one piece of paper sitting under her elbow. The paper was wrinkled, the title reading "Reasons to Avoid Mr. Smirker Cryptic" with a line drawn through Mr. Smirker.

Chameleon let out a small laugh at the title. She flattened the paper on the desk and began to read it.

_Reasons to Avoid __Mr. Smirker__ Cryptic  
A List by Duchess, Bookworm, and Chameleon with approval from Macy McHenry_

_1\. Even though Cryptic had assisted Chameleon on her previous mission, his presence wasn't necessary and she was still pretty ticked off about it._

_2\. Cryptic had made her feel all sorts of things she had never felt before. And, as in denial about it as she was, one of those feelings she hoped to repress but couldn't was the butterflies._

_3\. Because it isn't the right time to fall in love. (Who needs men when you've got butts to kick?)_

Chameleon still felt a little embarrassed about telling her friends of her most recent mission. She was even more embarrassed (well, more enraged actually) to learn that her three trusted and loved best friends had listened in on the conversation between her and Cryptic via coms unit. What she and the young man Cryptic had said to each other wasn't exactly the nicest-scolding the other and such-but she couldn't live with the fact that her friends heard everything.

Chameleon's cheeks flushed a dark red. She pulled her desk drawer open and placed the list there, slamming the drawer shut and returning to her work. She wasn't going to think about the list. She wasn't going to think about that cocky green-eyed young man with his know-it-all smirk and-

Chameleon stopped her train of thought there. She certainly didn't want to delve into_ that_ part of her mind. Shaking her head, she realized that one way or another, her work was going to get done and no matter how much she didn't like it, she would have to include Cryptic in the report. It was a rule that you _must_ write about the people encountered during the mission. She would just have to deal with it.

By the time she finished, an office person walked by calling, "The Director would like to see you, Operative Morgan."

Grinning, Chameleon pushed her seat away from the desk and scrambled to her feet, walking in the direction of the Director's office.

* * *

She felt confident, great. The Director was just calling her to discuss her last mission or possibly to assign her a new one. She believed that everything was going to be fine.

At least that was until she walked into the Director's office.

And saw the young man seated in the chair.

Her face grew pale, her palms felt clammy. She tried to reach for the door, the door that was so close yet so far away, but fell frozen in her place. She couldn't move. She willed her feet to turn and make a run for the door, for home even, but she couldn't.

The young man turned and sure enough, he was wearing his signature smirk. Suddenly she knew that nothing about this meeting was going to be as amazing as she'd pictured it to be. It was him, the green-eyed young man (or Mr. Green-Eyed Smirker, as deemed by her friends) sitting in the Director's office like he had the right to be there.

She had last seen him on her previous mission, where he had waltzed into the area (okay, so maybe he hadn't _waltzed_ but he had interfered with her mission), claiming that he too was a part of it. She still couldn't believe how easily she allowed the young man to get in her way. After that, she vowed to not let anyone from then on to do such a thing to her.

Yet, the look on Mr. Smirker's face made her want to forget all about it.

"Gallagher Girl," He finally said, gesturing to the empty chair next to him.

Another reason to avoid this young man: the nickname he had given her.

It took a few moments, a few mental pep-talks, and she was moving across the room to the seat. She cursed mentally, praying the Director would hurry up and break the tension that hung in the air.

He leaned in close, his lips to her ear as he whispered, "I'm still available if you need a partner."

He leaned back into his seat, and Chameleon wasn't sure if what she saw was real or not. He winked at her. Cryptic winked at her and she didn't know if it was her imagination or the actual winkage that made her perceive it that way.

She hid her embarrassment with a witty comment. "If I ever need you, I won't call you because you'll probably be there even _before_ I pick up the phone."

It was meant as an insult, but the young man didn't think of it as one. Instead, he laughed, his voice somewhat teasing as he said, "You know it."

Chameleon felt her face grow red in frustration. Cryptic wasn't an easy guy to break but she had tried to anyway. Angry at the young man, she turned to the empty office chair, imagining the Director materializing there and talking to them, dismissing them as soon as he had finished. She wanted to leave quickly since Cryptic was getting on her nerves and she didn't think that most people passing by the building would enjoy seeing a young man dangling out the window by his ankles. That would just put a damper on their mood. And confuse them.

Surprisingly, for the remainder of the time until the Director had walked in, the two operatives had lapsed into silence. Chameleon hated to admit it, but she liked it better when he was irritating and bewildering, not peaceful and quiet like then. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, stunned to see him looking back. She shifted her eyes back to the Director's seat and sure enough, the Director was sitting there, glancing up at the two operatives (literally raising his head high enough to get a good look at them).

Chameleon jumped. When she thought of the man materializing into the seat, she hadn't expected it to actually happen. Either that or she hadn't noticed him coming in. Yeah, she thought as she regained her posture, definitely the latter. She nodded to the Director.

The Director was a man of five foot two-not a very imposing height but to his enemies, he was a dangerous opponent. He had slicked back black hair, a bold spot located at the back of his head. His eyes were a dark brown, so dark they could've been black. Bags were under his eyes, showing that he got little to no sleep every night. He could be considered average built, but his height made one believe that he was one fluffy giant teddy bear, as described by his wife. His face displayed no emotion-like any good operative should know how to do-but traces of worry and concern was evident, as they always were.

The man rocked in the chair, but Chameleon knew he was swinging his feet angrily because they just barely reached the floor. They never did. The Director stopped fidgeting and nodded at the two agents, "Operatives Goode and Morgan."

"Director," Was the operative's response.

"I believe you two know why you're here," The Director said, leaning forward on the desk. When the two operatives didn't respond, the Director pulled out a manila folder from a desk drawer and placed it in the center of the desk.

"Why was Cryptic on my last mission?" Chameleon blurted.

She received a questionable look from the Director, and a smirk from the aforementioned young man. Chameleon really wanted to get rid of the smile on Cryptic's face-it was infuriating, yet pleasant at the same time.

The Director sighed. He looked towards Cryptic, as if waiting for approval. Cryptic gave a small nod. "Another source told us that you might be...pursued by someone," the Director said simply. "Someone who wishes to only bring the worst upon you."

"Who?" Chameleon demanded. She ran through her head the list of people who might want her-which, being a spy, it was a very long list. "Why do they want me? Is that why _he_"-she jabbed her finger in Cryptic's direction-"hindered my mission? To be my _bodyguard_?"

Chameleon knew that she was acting unprofessionally but she couldn't help it. She needed to know more.

Cryptic's smirk disappeared and his mouth became a straight, thin line. "Even if you wanted to know, we can't tell you. You don't have that high of a clearance." He shrugged casually. "Besides, you don't want to know. You're better off that way."

Chameleon felt her anger growing. Cryptic had told her during her mission that she didn't have the right amount of clearance to know about many things. Now, being told that again for a second time made her wish she had that kind of clearance. Not knowing something when you lived your life on a need-to-know basis was killing her. But maybe Cryptic was right. There were things that you absolutely didn't want to know. She should be able to tell from experience.

The Director looked between the two operatives. It was unbelievable how he could remain so calm. That's because he's a great operative, Chameleon thought.

Another thought crossed her mind, "How long have you known this?"

Both the Director and Cryptic didn't respond.

Chameleon realized that she was asking the wrong questions. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Nothing," Cryptic was quick to answer. "We'll take care of it for you."

If Chameleon had a strong urge to punch the young man in the face, it might've been right then and there. She was already furious with not knowing, but for Cryptic to act like he knew everything, it made her want to be a part of it. It was her safety in question-shouldn't she be allowed to do something about it?

"Actually," The Director began, sliding the manila folder closer to the two operatives, "You can do something."

Before the two operatives could speak, the Director continued. "We're going to catch your pursuer and you're going to join in on the mission."

"No," Cryptic demanded, his tone strict. "She can't be a part of this; it's not safe."

Chameleon puffed out her cheeks. She was sick and tired of people telling her what was good for her and what wasn't. She was a well-trained operative. She could help herself.

The Director's face was stoic. He didn't seem at all bothered by this. Maybe because there were other operatives who had gone through the same thing she was going through then. The Director probably learned not to get too attached to it. "Operative Morgan won't know as much about what's going on, but we'll let her know enough to go through with this."

"But it's not worth the risk," Cryptic said, and Chameleon had to wonder when he cared so much about risks. Cryptic reasoned, "She's safer off the field; at headquarters or something. There, she'll be protected. But don't let her walk into this, having no idea what going on."

The Director furrowed his eyebrow. "This concerns Operative Morgan. If anyone will decide what's best for her, it'll be her."

Both the Director and Cryptic turned to face Chameleon. Cryptic gave her a look, one so cold and rude; she got shivers down her back. She apprehended that the young man could be scary if he wanted to.

"Who else is on this mission?" She asked, trying to avoid Cryptic's gaze.

"Two other operatives from Blackthorne," Chameleon made a sour face when the Director said that. If she had to deal with other people from Blackthorne, they'd better not be an exact copy of Cryptic. (Because if they were, that would be unfortunate.) The Director continued, "Operative Sutton, with a few other operatives to cover your trail, of course."

"Operative Baxter?" questioned Chameleon. "McHenry?"

"Baxter's occupied in MI6 and McHenry will be one of the operatives protecting your trail," The Director told her. Chameleon waited for the Director to list the one name she was hoping would never come. "And Operative Goode," He nodded to the agent besides Chameleon who had gone silent. Perhaps it was his own way of showing his anger.

Chameleon mentally cursed. Just when she was certain that this was the last time she would ever see Cryptic, guess what happened? She got to see even more of him. But if she wanted to get answers, she would have to put up with it.

"Will you join the team following your pursuers or will you let us arrange a safe house or such as Operative Goode had purposed?" The Director asked.

"Think about what you're getting into, Gallagher Girl," Cryptic said, leaning closer to her. Chameleon looked straight at him and she wished his eyes weren't so green or that his voice wasn't so…seductive. He could've convinced her to do just about anything he wanted her too. But not today. Not ever. "Once you agree and walk out of here, there's no turning back. Your safety depends on whoever's got your back-which won't be that many people. Whatever you do, don't be stupid."

Chameleon let out a small laugh. As tempting as he and his words were, she had to do this. She had to go on the mission, discover the person who so badly wanted her, and take them down even if it meant risking everything she's got. She couldn't let other people do the job for her while she sat back and wondered if she was ever truly safe. That wasn't how she worked.

Chameleon looked at Cryptic, then the Director, and back to Cryptic again. The look on the young man's face was challenging, as if he was daring her to turn down the mission and give into the alternative he had suggested. She refused to admit it, but Cryptic was right and she hated him for it. If she left this room, having no idea what awaited her, she might as well have been dead the second she stepped out of the building.

She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind as she reached for the folder that lay untouched on the desk. In it was what she needed to know. It was now or never, and she knew the answer to the Director's question.

"So, where do we begin?"


	3. Trust

**Did I mention that I was awful at updating? A bit of Zammie. Enjoy.**

* * *

"Come inside," His rough voice cut through the stillness of the night.

The figure on the balcony did not move.

Not even when Cryptic reached his arm out to touch their shoulder. The figure's attention was held by something below them on the street, or maybe by the buildings that surrounded them. Whatever it was, Cryptic didn't know. But what he did know, was that they shouldn't be there.

"Come in-" He prodded again, only to be cut short.

"I heard," A soft, impatient voice said.

Cryptic was done waiting. He forcefully turned the figure to him, pressed their body against the balcony's railing and his body. He didn't think about the minimum amount of space left between him and the other person or the irritated and distant look in the blue eyes that meet his green ones. "Then why didn't you?" He questioned bitterly as his hands rested on either side of the person on the railing, trapping them in a sort of make-shift cell.

"Haven't you heard of giving a girl her privacy?" The person said. "And her space, too?"

Cryptic groaned. If there was one thing he learned about Chameleon, it was that she could be stubborn. Not necessarily in a good way, but stubborn for her own good. He leaned back, but his grip on the railing didn't loosen. It tightened until his knuckles were a faint white. His gaze on her didn't shift.

"Come inside." He repeated, his voice dangerously low.

"I will," She spat back, but the look on her face proved that she didn't mean the harshness of her words.

"No," Cryptic released one of his hands from the railing, slid his hand down the side of her arm. The cotton fabric of her jacket was warm beneath his touch as he enclosed his fingers around her wrist. "You're coming in _now_."

He tugged at her wrist, pulling her towards the door that led back inside. Chameleon turned her back to him again as she released her hand from his grip. She wasn't going in the easy way.

Cryptic tried another way.

"You better come in."

"And why is that?" She asked, never turning away from the balcony.

"They can spot you. Your pursuer. You wouldn't want that now, would you?" Cryptic reasoned.

A silence progressed. Leaning on the railing opposite to Chameleon, he tried to get a look at her face. Even if she was facing the other way, he could see the moonlight dance across her features. He could see the shadow that passed over her face.

The young women had worries about this mission, and it was obviously displayed on her face.

"Cammie," He said, softer this time, as he reached for her hand again.

"Don't call me that," She abruptly turned to him, blue eyes dancing with a burning fire. Her shoulders tensed; her posture was rigid. "Only my friends can call me that."

Cryptic felt the small of his back hit the cool, hard surface of the railing. He placed a hand to his heart as though he had been hit there, her words being the bullet that was slowly causing him pain. He told her, "I didn't know."

"Well, now you do." Cryptic noted that she was furious at him, but the uneasiness she spoke her words with and her body posture showed that she didn't want to be. Chameleon sighed, "Look, how can I trust you when I don't even know who you are?"

"You don't have to." It was Cryptic's turn to be stubborn. As much as he'd love to get on Chameleon's nerves, he needed to get her back into their temporary apartment first. Formalities and other such things could be handled later.

"Well?" She asked. Cryptic didn't answer her, only left her with silence.

"Who are you?" Chameleon asked as she walked closer to him. She was trying to analyze his features, or at least what she could see of it. Cryptic lowered his head. He didn't need her to see the look that passed over his brow. He hoped that as he turned away, she'd lose interest-that she'd do what he'd requested of her and go inside the apartment.

His eyes drifted down to the streets, where the dim illumination of street lamps and headlights of cars made it difficult to spot movement down below. Anyone in the shadows could be an enemy. A stranger. From experience, Cryptic could tell that people one couldn't see shouldn't be trusted. He wanted to slip into the darkness; become nothing. It was better than answering a question he didn't know how to answer.

_Who was he, anyway?_

"You don't want to know." He murmured, avoiding all eye contact with the young women. The ray of light that danced across the balcony floor seemed far more interesting than the conversation-than her face.

"What's your real name?"

Cryptic gave a short laugh that held no hint of humor. He didn't doubt that the girl or her friends had broken into the C.I.A. databases to find out what the answer to that was. He meet her eyes again. It wasn't time to come out of the protection he built around himself over the years. It was far too soon, and the persistent young women wasn't going to get much out of him.

He leaned into the moonlight so she could see his face-not that it would matter since his features were passive. "Don't you already know that?"

Chameleon blinked in confusion. She probably wasn't expecting that from him. Maybe that was why he believed her when she said, "I really don't know."

Another silence passed by them, this one prolonged and uncomfortable.

Chameleon sighed in frustration. The young women's hands curled into fists. Cryptic didn't need to be a seasoned operative to know that she had enough of this. Her voice raised as she demanded, "So I'm supposed to go into this without knowing? I'm supposed to trust you and the two others who came from your school just because they're good and they were assigned on this mission? I don't like going in blind. If I'm going to this, tell me a little bit about yourself. That's the least you could do."

Cryptic hesitated. He had been in her position before-knew that not having enough information could drive one crazy. But he couldn't tell her. She wasn't allowed to know much and knowing wasn't necessarily a good thing. He bit his lip to prevent retorting that it was her fault for getting herself into this situation, yet it wasn't the time to reflect back on mistakes. "Yes," he mustered. "Do you want to stay alive?"

Perhaps the young women had had enough of his nonsense, or she acknowledged the fact that it wasn't such a smart idea to stay outside at a late time. Whatever the reason, it was enough to make her march through the door that led back into the apartment. He followed in after her.

"Zach." He mumbled.

That got her to stop in her tracks. "What?" She perked.

"You asked for my name," Cryptic shut the sliding door to the balcony. The sound echoed in the empty and quiet room. "I'm Zach."

She gave a brief nod, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Good to know."

Then she turned and sauntered down the hall to her room, her figure slowly disappearing as she went. Cryptic pressed his back against the cold, hard door and let out a sigh. The moonlight seemed a little bit brighter now they were inside. He let his thoughts run to the mission: Chameleon wouldn't be safe. Not for long. Neither would everyone else assigned on it, but he could only hope. He also wondered how long he would have until he had to reveal the truth to Chameleon. When the doubts started to weigh down on his mind, he dismissed the thoughts and pushed himself off of the door.

He could deny the truth.

Well, for now, at least.

He tried not to think much about it as he trudged down the hall to his own room. Maybe the thick veil of lies he hid from her will be cleared up like the bright sun the morning after a rainy night. But until then, him and the lies would remain hidden in the night, blurred by the heavy rain.


End file.
